


Landfill

by thelittlelioness



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Elysium, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, literally every character dies, lots of death, this was written more for poetic drama than for in-character plot so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlelioness/pseuds/thelittlelioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing Elysium taught Percy, it was this:<br/>They were all just bodies piling up in landfills. Nothing more, nothing less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landfill

**Author's Note:**

> This work was heavily influenced by the song "Landfill" by Daughter.
> 
> I'm so sorry for this.

Percy’s life started with two strangers, one from another world.

Percy’s life ended with one best friend and one best enemy.

“I tried to save you,” the di Angelo boy whispered into the seafoam shrine, raindrops sliding down his face and down the trees and into his heart. He kissed those cold lips for the last time.

Tears. They were tears, not raindrops.

_Why should you save him? He couldn’t save her!_

No. He was more than that. He was more than everyone made him out to be. He didn’t deserve this.

The things he would need: strength, an offering.

Nico slept for four days straight then found himself holding out a cheeseburger to a translucent Percy Jackson.

Red and yellow cardboard against the glittering white snow.

Nico’s sister died in December. Both of them did, actually. One in a junkyard and one on a highway.

There was one bed in the Hades cabin, and one desk. Nico didn’t have much; he was always on the run.

But there were three items on the table.

A statue of his father. _Mythomagic_ was written in lead ink on the bottom.

A chunk of gold. Nico thought its shape resembled that of an anatomical heart, but maybe that was just the cold speaking. The curse was now rendered useless. Nico didn’t need precious metals to provide him with bad luck.

A pen, a sword. It now pledged allegiance to him.

If the happy meals had worked, he would have asked why. Why him?

The first time _Anaklusmos_ showed itself to Nico’s pocket, he made a point to use it well. He stabbed Kelli, the Empousa.

The cake Percy baked him for his sixteenth birthday—the one with the numeral ιϛ͵ written sloppily in dark, inky icing—was sweet. But revenge was sweeter.

The Underworld was cold and hot at the same time. It was a strange sensation for anyone, even the death boy who never stayed in a climate warmer than New York wintertime.

Elysium. There had been a desperate jagged relieved breath as he learned of the sea boy’s decision.

Nico could work with that.

 _Di Angelo’s Catering Service_ was started: he brought Camp Half-Blood food every day, once a day, to Elysium.

Blue food, especially.

Elysium was paradise, but only then did it have the two things Percy wanted most. His favorite food, and Nico.

He missed Annabeth and his parents, he told Nico, but there was nothing short of murder to be done about that.

And for a millisecond, Nico was prepared to do it. To bring Percy close to his closest.

He would do anything for the Jackson boy. Even kill.

And when his eyes darkened, planning, Percy realized how capable the death boy was.

He asked him to stop coming.

The death boy complied. He would do anything for the sea boy.

Percy spent his days with Selina and Beckendorf. They died not too long before he did, but everything was so different back then.

It took years, decades, millennia. But they all followed.

Annabeth Chase, leukemia.

Sally Jackson, old age.

Paul Blofis, a broken heart.

Nico di Angelo, a broken heart. A self-inflicted wound.

In Percy’s brightened darkened green eyes, paradise was less brutal with his family. But he never even spared a glance to the boy he used to stare at with lusty and—dare he admit it?—lovey eyes.

That was a different life. The old life was over, kaput, done with: the life of New York takeout and midnight kisses when Sally and Paul were asleep and canoe rides with Annabeth because she was still his fiancee even though he had been regrettably/not regrettably fucking his best friend behind her back.

Nineteen was too young to be engaged, anyway. Nineteen was too young to die, but that didn’t stop Hades.

If there was one thing Elysium taught Percy, it was this:

They were all just bodies piling up in landfills. Nothing more, nothing less.


End file.
